


The Case of the Lost Patient

by astudyoftext



Category: Murder Rooms: The Dark Beginnings of Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cream Is Ignored, Gen, Humor, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyoftext/pseuds/astudyoftext
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says. How Dr Bell contrived to lose one of his patients. What's described in the story was not intended as a case of conversion disorder (at least the clinical picture doesn't match perfectly).<br/>Oh, and it's based on actual events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Lost Patient

“Are you sure you want to come with me?” He sighed, closing his medical bag with a quiet click.

I turned to him and offered a hesitant smile. “Why, I wouldn’t mind a little walk.”

He walked towards the door with this rapid gait of his which, probably due to the limp, resembled that of a sailor, and gestured for me to follow him. “Oh, it’s not just the walk. There’s also the patient.”

“I’m sure I don’t mind patients either. I’m not tired of my work as a doctor.”

“Good to know that, Doyle,” the Doctor said, his voice slightly more cheerful. We walked out into the dusky street, where sleepy horses stood along the University, shifting their weight and tinkling the harness. On our right lay the streets leading to Cowgate, lit with that weakly pink something that remained of the daylight; on our left, gloomy narrow lanes where the setting sun could no longer reach.

We turned to the right.

“Is there anything about this particular patient that bothers you, however?” I asked at length. Bell gave a hoarse laugh.

“Certainly.”

It started to irritate me slightly that he kept hinting that something was wrong but wouldn’t specify what exactly.

“Don’t speak in riddles. What’s the matter with this man?”

“It’s a woman, actually,” he answered with a vaguely thoughtful air. There was a long pause. I had to suppress a smile, for it started to look like he was teasing me deliberately.

“She’s a hypochondriac.”

“But Bell-”

“A curious kind of hypochondriac. She tells me about most severe symptoms that couldn't possibly be mistaken for the norm. Apart from that, she’s never had an illness in her entire life.”

A late cab passed by, the horse snorting softly and slipping in the thin mud.

“A well-to-do lady in her thirties. Always calls me at the most inappropriate time. Don’t get me wrong, Doyle: it’s no laughing matter if she actually feels this way, but she must be the most tiresome and stubborn woman I’ve ever met. She doesn’t want me to treat her for hysteria, she keeps calling me to cure her of her imaginary diseases when I have dozens of patients awaiting me in all parts of Edinburgh,” a long sigh escaped his lips. “It goes on and on. More than two years by now.”

“…Oh, I see.” I could not help but sound sympathetic. It was a situation any medical man could relate to, and not a pleasant one, either. “And what does she want you to treat her for?”

“Blindness,” the Doctor said gloomily. “She thinks she goes blind from time to time.”

For some moments we continued walking in silence. The air was cooling, and the faint sound of violin that could be heard previously had abruptly stopped. We passed the infamous brothel; all the curtains were drawn, and the sweet light filtering through them tinted the darkness with red and green and yellow. Without knowing one could easily assume that it was a kind of cosy small bakery, except bakeries don’t work that late at nights. A couple of girls were standing near the door, their corsets tight and faces pale with the unhealthy pallor of insomnia evident even through the thick layer of powder. I shivered slightly and increased my pace. The Doctor, too, had appeared uncomfortable for a moment, although in his forensic work he used to deal with places far worse than that one.

Not long after passing the brothel he stopped near a dark-brown stone house. The bronze hammer with a thin handle rang melodically against the door, and soon a servant welcomed us inside, saying that yes, yes, Lady Laura is home and she expects Doctor Bell, but who is the other gentleman? Bell introduced me as his assistant, which I did not mind – in fact, it was our unspoken agreement, and secretly I was rather fond of it. It reminded me of the good old university times.

Lady Laura was awaiting us upstairs, in her bedroom. She appeared to be a handsome, if a little too thin, woman with delicate childish cheeks and a big light-golden birthmark near her plump mouth.

“Ah, you’re late.”

“But it’s eight o’clock exactly, Lady Laura,” answered the Doctor with courtesy.

“You’re just taking advantage of the fact that I can’t see the clock,” she cried capriciously. “I can hear the other footsteps. Who’s the second man?”

“I’m Doctor Arthur Doyle, Doctor Bell’s assistant,” said I, giving her a sympathetic look. How could it be that the woman imagined that she wasn’t able to see anything? Was such a thing even possible? That her physical eyesight was normal I was quite sure: Bell couldn’t have possibly failed to notice if there was something wrong with her eyes.

“But I wanted Doctor Bell to come alone.” Judging by her tone, Lady Laura was displeased. Bell sighed patiently.

“You can most certainly trust Doctor Doyle, Lady Laura. He’s as good as I am.”

It was, of course, a blatant lie: I would never be as good as he was. I felt in this case, however, that he was right to try and reassure her. She seemed to be by no means a calm and patient person, and I already knew that it wouldn’t be easy to deal with her.

“Fine,” he said meanwhile, “Let’s, however, take a look at your eyes. You’re saying that you can’t see anything at all, am I right?”

“Yes, that’s right, I can see nothing,” she answered, and at the same I noticed how her gaze skimmed lively over the Doctor.

Bell produced a small mirror from his medical bag, polished it with a duster and walked towards Lady Laura, bending down to her from his improbable height. Apparently it aroused her suspicion, for she suddenly moved away like a scared child.

“What are you going to do?”

“I shall just take a look,” his voice was soft. “No harm will come to you. Keep your eyes wide open for a moment and I won't so much as touch you."

“I don’t want to.”

Bell shrugged, stepping back.

“But then you must understand that I can’t help you. I already told you that you didn’t need to be treated for any physical illness. What you need is rest, fresh air, and good company. It’s only in your mind, you’re not truly blind.”

“Are you saying that I’m lying?” Lady Laura demanded in an offended voice.

“No, I don’t think that you’re lying. You may yourself be convinced that you’re unable to see anything. Physically, however, that is not the case; your eyes are in perfect condition.”

“But how can I be convinced that I’m blind while I’m not blind? That doesn’t make any sense. You’re clearly missing something.”

“Medicine knows such cases. While there’s no organic damage, your mind tricks you by telling you that you see nothing when in fact you still see everything.”

Bell was playing with the mirror somewhat absent-mindedly, twirling it in his thin white fingers. There was something almost sinister about them – being graceful, they at the same time resembled naked bones. It was hard to imagine that there was any living, warm flesh in those hands.

“Don’t you have any faith in me, Lady Laura?” he asked with a certain aloof curiosity. “After all, you keep calling me for two years now and you still think I’m missing something.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t have any faith in you,” she answered acrimoniously.

“Why don’t you call somebody else?” Bell inquired, looking at her with his light eyes expressing infinite, almost angelic patience.

Her cherry-like soft lower lip stuck out resentfully.

“They would tell me the same thing.”

“And they would be right,” the Doctor told her; her expression, however, became even more aggrieved.

“Are you telling me doctors know something about me better than I myself do?”

“But of course, Lady Laura. It is our profession to know it.”

“Well… In this case, I suppose, you can perform this silly examination of yours.”

I knew that he’d already done that an infinite number of times, but he didn’t show any signs of distress or irritation while examining her eyes, light-brown and quite beautiful. She winced discontentedly when a ray of light fell on her cornea.

“I’m afraid it is still absolutely all right,” Bell concluded gently, drawing himself up.

She was obviously disappointed.

“Can’t you give me some kind of medicine to make it go away?” she asked. I looked at the Doctor inquiringly. In such cases of a purely mental illusion what often helped was not medicine itself but the patient’s belief in the power of the medicine taken. He, however, shook his head.

“No medicine can make it go away, Lady Laura. There’s nothing physically wrong with you.”

“I’ve done it previously,” he whispered to me with regret, “it never helped, Doyle.”

“But there must be! Can’t you do anything at all about it?”

“I don’t know,” Bell answered honestly. It was a rare case for a doctor to tell his patient in that straightforward a fashion that he had no idea as to the further treatment, but that time I couldn't see what other options he had. “You refuse to obey my orders and I can't give you any other advice. We know little about illusions of this kind, but a month of peaceful life in the countryside could do wonders.”

“It’s boring! Besides, it is not an illusion.”

“In this case I fail to see of what use I can be to you,” he answered with a half-questioning intonation. She shrugged, smiling naughtily.

“Well, I guess I will just call you every time it happens until something ensues.”

At this point I was almost sure that she was flirting with him, and that he knew it perfectly (because, honestly, Bell was the last man who could miss anything that obvious). I also knew, however, that he held no interest in romance whatsoever and that since Edith’s death nobody could engage him in anything remotely resembling flirtation. Knowing Bell, he surely tried to speak to her at some point. Then why was he still there? The possible answer was that she simply wouldn’t let him go. He couldn’t refuse to visit Lady Laura in every individual case; if anything happened to her due to his refusal, he would never forgive himself; at the same time he could do nothing to prevent her from sending for him every time she wanted a physician.

I could only imagine all the awkwardness of the situation he found himself in. After all, he couldn’t even be sure if she was faking her illness.

“Oh,” Bell said almost inaudibly, giving her a strange look. “Fine. Doyle, will you be so kind as to put this back?” he gave me the pocket mirror. I took it, turned away, put it in his medical bag and turned back to the Doctor only to see him thumbing his nose at Lady Laura-

_Only to see him thumbing his nose at Lady Laura._

I froze and stared at him, quite speechless.

And she stared at him, too.

Suddenly aware of her gaze, I turned my head to her; and I could tell for sure that she’d _seen_ what he’d done.

“You!” Lady Laura shrieked in outrage, her face darkening and her eyes shining with indignation. “How dare you! How dare you even think of doing anything like that! I will not bear you in my house any longer!”

For a moment I even thought that she would claw in his face, especially when she jumped to her feet, panting with righteous anger.

Bell’s expression was so solemn that I shook my head in confusion, not quite able to tell if it wasn’t all a hallucination of some sort and if I wasn’t suffering from the same condition as Lady Laura.

“James! Immediately show this man to the door! I don’t want to see him ever again!”

“Good evening, my lady,” the Doctor replied courteously, and we were hurriedly escorted downstairs by scared James.

“And don’t you dare try and apologize to me!” a furious scream reached our ears, and the door slammed behind us. It was already utterly dark outside, and the violet June sky was clouding with inky mist. The air, however, was still relatively warm, although I shivered slightly after the cosy warmth of Lady Laura’s mansion.

I looked at Bell and laughed.

“I’m afraid you’ve just lost a patient, Doctor,” I told him.

“I can’t say that I regret it, however,” he grinned back. At this point I was almost sobbing with laughter, the image of the Doctor thumbing his nose unbearably vivid in my memory. His expression was so lively and so much resembling that of a school boy that any illusions one might have had about his being a perfectly serious person would have been shattered.

I recovered my breath with some effort, thinking that the worst part of the whole case was that it was the same man who owned a grim collection of forensic artifacts and whose job was to deal with human suffering. 

For a while we were walking in silence; I was still smiling, but my thoughts were now turned to our former patient.

“Wasn’t she faking, Bell?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied.

“But she gained her eyesight back?”

“Aye, and I hope this blindness of hers won’t return at least for some time. I don’t know, though, if she was faking or not.”

Some of the streetlamps were still alight, but the Doctor was able to find his way even in the darkness no worse than a cat would.

“You see, Doyle, I’m rather inclined to think that it was both. She was partly faking, seeking people’s attention (and probably also mine), but at the same time she could convince the other part of her mind that she was truly blind. The faking part could even be subconscious.”

He cast a sidelong look at me.

“Poor girl, I hope she will be all right. My presence most certainly didn’t help her condition.”

“She was in love with you, was she not?” I asked seriously.

“Oh, I don’t think it was love,” his face darkened. “At least I’d like to think it wasn’t. She just needs attention… Anybody’s attention; attention and warmth. It’s not something I can give her, unfortunately. Lady Laura has a lot of money, but her circle of acquaintance apparently leaves much to be desired.”

“Her next physician may be handsome as well as compliant,” I smiled.

“And careless about his duties?” the Doctor said sternly. The question was obviously rhetorical. “I personally hope that she doesn’t get one. It would be so much better for her if she found a good friend or, yes, fell in love with somebody. To go temporarily blind is an unhealthy way to seek attention."

At this moment we approached the University building. All the horses were gone, and almost all the windows dark.

“Surely you’re going home now?” I asked him.

“No I'm not. I have a case to work on. The Yard asked me to.”

I let out a snort of disapproval.

“Something about a couple of geese stolen in Devonshire?”

“Absolutely right,” he answered, and I opened my eyes wide. “Only it’s not Devonshire, not a couple, not geese, and not stolen.”

“Fine,” I laughed, “You can keep it to yourself. But isn't it already ten o'clock?”

He gave me a “so what’s of it?” look; I returned him a “you should sleep more” one.

“Good night, Doyle,” he said softly, slightly lifting his top hat.

 

We never got to know what exactly happened to Lady Laura. Apparently her blindness fits had finally stopped, although whether the Doctor’s prank played any role in the recovery we couldn’t be sure. A year later she married a professor from Oxford University and left Edinburgh forever.


End file.
